Love's Alchemy
by chelsie fan
Summary: Charles Carson, secret alchemist, devises a love potion to make Mrs. Hughes fall in love with him. Will it work? Total crack!fic! A little birthday present for Chelsie Dagger. Birthday wishes go out to longlivequeenvic, too!


**A/N This is a little birthday present for my dear friend Chelsie Dagger. Happy Birthday! Special birthday wishes go out also to the lovely longlivequeenvic, whose birthday is today, as well. I hope you both have a wonderful day filled with lots of good things.**

 **The title has very little to do with the content of the John Donne poem by the same name, except that the words of the title fit my story exactly. The inspiration for this story came from a tumblr post from downtonabbeylamps which included a picture of Mr. Carson and his Epic Decanting Contraption. It said something about his looking like a medieval alchemist. Batwings79 said I should write a crack!fic about it. I noticed that in the S5 CS, every time Mr. Carson comes to Mrs. Hughes to make a suggestion, he brings a decanter of something special. So … I wondered … Perhaps Mr. Carson wasn't trying to ply Mrs. Hughes with alcohol alone. Perhaps he brewed up a little something extra and added it to her wine …**

 _ **LOVE'S ALCHEMY**_

 _Christmas Eve, 1924_

Mr. Carson woke early and made his way to his makeshift laboratory in the wine cellar. He opened his notebook, gathered his reagents, and arranged his apparatus. He was hopeful that after years of experimenting, he'd finally arrived at the magic formula that would achieve the desired effect.

He glanced over his notes.

 _10th April 1920 – Ginger in tea. Subject tetchy._

 _25th May 1920 – Plum in port. Subject pleased._

 _12th January 1921 – Pear in punch. Subject festive._

 _7th September 1921 – Hazelnut in brandy. Subject melancholy._

 _2nd March 1922 – Mint in tea. Subject irritable._

 _30_ _th_ _April 1922 – Walnut in sherry. Subject pensive._

 _24th December 1922 – Cinnamon in egg nog. Subject content._

 _2_ _nd_ _April 1923 – Anise in whiskey. Subject quiet._

 _19th August 1923 – Raspberry in lemonade. Subject happy!_

 _29 April 1924 – Vanilla in tea. Subject flustered but agreeable!_

 _5 September 1924 – Lemon in tea. Subject most agreeable!_

 _8 October 1924 – Chocolate in Margaux. Subject concerned._

 _14 November 1924 – Nutmeg in tea. Subject dejected._

After making a few new notations, Mr. Carson set a glass flask filled with water over a flame and collected his ingredients. He meticulously measured the amount of each and added it to the flask of boiling water. Once he was satisfied that he'd distilled his solution down to its essence, he removed the flask from the flame and set it aside. As the mixture cooled, he tidied up his work area and put his materials away. Then he poured his concoction into a small vial, stoppered it tightly, and tucked it into his breast pocket, feeling quite proud of himself.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

All evening at the party, he tried to find an opportunity to slip a few drops of his secret potion into Mrs. Hughes's drink, but to no avail. Finally, in desperation, when he found himself alone in the kitchen for a few short moments, he dumped the entire vial into a bowl of punch that was ready to be taken upstairs to the party. He could only hope that he might later get her to drink some of it.

He did indeed find a moment to offer her a glass of punch. He ladled two cups full and approached her, holding one out to her and keeping one for himself. Unfortunately, before he could offer a toast and have a drink with her, Mr. Molesley interrupted them and called Mr. Carson away. He set down his cup and sent up a silent plea that Mrs. Hughes would finish her whole cup, so that his formula might have its maximum effect.

Later on, as soon as he was able, he asked her to join him for a private word. "Is this a good moment?"

"It is if you want it to be." She agreed and procured two more glasses of punch for them before they stole away.

Soon they were in his pantry and she was holding out a cup for him to take. Now was the decisive moment. He prayed that his efforts would prove effective.

"I don't think I should," he declined.

"Go on! It's Christmas! Let's toast your new house," she entreated.

"Maybe I should mention one thing. You say, 'your new house,' but … it isn't only mine."

"No?"

"No. I've registered it in both of our names," he confessed. "I hope you don't mind, but I hate to change a plan when there's no need."

"Mr. Carson, I'm very appreciative. Really. But I can't accept."

"Why not?"

"Who knows what the future may hold? Or how much longer we'll even be here? Suppose you want to … move away and … change your life entirely. You don't want to be stuck with me."

"But that's the point."

"What is?" she asked.

"I do want to be stuck with you."

"I'm not convinced I can be hearing this right."

"You are … if you think … I am asking you … to marry me." He held his breath when she didn't answer. "Well?"

"Well! You could knock me down with a feather."

"And you're not offended?"

"Mr. Carson, I can assure you, the very last thing in the world that I am at this moment is offended!" She seemed overwhelmed, but her reply gave him hope.

"You can take as long as you like. I won't press you, because one thing I do know: I'm not marrying anyone else!"

"Well, then!" She smiled and pushed one of the glasses into his hand, and finally he took it.

"What exactly are we celebrating?" He was almost afraid to ask.

"We're celebrating the fact that I can still get a proposal at my age."

"And that's … _it_?" He was worried; she still hadn't said yes.

"Of course, I'll marry you, you old booby! I thought you'd never ask!" And with those words, Mr. Carson became the happiest man alive.

She reached out to touch his arm, and they stood for a moment, beaming at one another with teary eyes and broad smiles. But when Mrs. Hughes raised her cup to her lips to take a sip, he stopped her.

"Mrs. Hughes, before you drink any more of that, there's something you should know. The punch I gave you earlier – and this punch … well, it's a … _special recipe_ , so to speak."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Allow me to explain. I've not been entirely forthright with you for some time. I'm ashamed to say I've been somewhat deceitful. You see, I've been helplessly in love with you for a good many years, and in my desperation to make you fall in love with me, I've taken … well, rather _extraordinary measures_."

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Mr. Carson."

"Well, for some time now, I've been … _augmenting_ your tea and wine with certain … _additives_ – substances I thought might make you more amenable to loving me."

"You've been _poisoning_ me?!" She appeared caught between shock and disbelief.

"No!" He was quick to correct her. "Not ' _poisoning_ '! Of course not! All the ingredients have been perfectly safe: a little ground lemon peel, powdered walnut, vanilla extract … "

"You silly man! And you think this magic potion has made me fall in love with you?" demanded Mrs. Hughes.

"I can think of no other explanation."

"Just how long have you been ' _supplementing_ ' my drinks?" she wanted to know.

"For almost five years now," he told her.

"It might interest you to know that I've been in love with you for far longer than that!"

"You have?"

"I have. And this punch? I haven't drunk a drop all night!"

"You haven't? But the cup I gave you earlier … " Mr. Carson couldn't quite make sense of it.

"I never had the chance to drink it. I was needed, too. Just after Mr. Molesley spirited you away, Miss Baxter whisked me away, also."

"So it's not the punch at all, then? And my secret potion is rubbish? You really do … ?"

"Of course I do! I love you, you old booby!"

"I love you, too! And I've been very foolish. Come here." He took her glass and set it aside along with his own. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her – tenderly, lovingly, and longingly.

"Happy Christmas, my dearest love," he said when they drew apart for breath.

"The happiest Christmas ever!" she declared, and she kissed him again.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

When they returned upstairs, they could scarcely believe the sights that greeted them. Everyone in the house seemed to have lost all sense – or all inhibition, at least!

His lordship was carrying her ladyship up the staircase while kissing her neck; she threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed her lips to his ear. Lady Edith sat on the sofa with Sir Anthony Strallan, talking with him and holding his hand. Lady Mary danced with Mr. Napier, with such proximity as could only barely be deemed proper. Mr. Branson was playing cards with a friendly young lass, a tenant farmer's daughter. Lady Rose was playing the piano, trying to teach Mr. Atticus some Christmas carols; but the only music that interested him was composed of the sounds she made when he caressed her thigh or tickled her ribs.

The Dowager Countess, seated in a plush armchair, dropped her handkerchief; the elder Mr. Molesley stooped gracefully, retrieved it, and returned it to her with a gallant bow, receiving in thanks a gracious nod of the grand lady's head and one of her most brilliant smiles. In the foyer, Dr. Clarkson was on bended knee before Mrs. Crawley; she had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face and was feverishly nodding her head yes.

In the corridor, Anna and Mr. Bates were locked in a heated embrace; he whispered something in her ear, and she turned away, tugging his hand and beckoning him with amorous looks, leading him down the servants' staircase, presumably to gather their things and go home. Mrs. Patmore was conversing intimately in a secluded corner with Mr. Mason, and at one point, he lifted her hand to kiss it, causing her to blush and giggle like a schoolgirl. Miss Baxter had Mr. Molesley backed up against the wall; she ran her hands suggestively up and down his lapels while he whimpered helplessly but happily. Under the mistletoe hanging in one of the doorways, Mr. Spratt appeared to be inspecting the inside of Miss Denker's mouth with his tongue; she offered no objection and, in fact, seemed to be enjoying the examination. Andy and Daisy stood together at a window, looking out at the snow; he wrapped his arm tentatively around her waist, and she sighed contentedly, leaned against him, and rested her head on his shoulder. And Mr. Barrow was chatting away amiably with one the village chaps, a pleasant young lad who seemed enchanted with everything and everyone around him, most especially the under-butler.

"What on Earth is going on here?" Mr. Carson wondered aloud, attempting to assess the situation.

"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Hughes, "it seems you've stumbled on the correct formula at last! Nicely done. They all appear quite pleased. Why don't we leave them to it and go back downstairs so you and I can be alone?"

Mr. Carson nodded mutely and followed Mrs. Hughes.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

As they walked through the downstairs corridor, something caught Mr. Carson's eye. He walked into the kitchen and stood staring at a bowl of punch on the table. Mrs. Hughes followed him.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" she asked, seeing his distressed expression.

" _This_ is the batch that I … erm … _enhanced_. This is the one! I'm sure of it. We have only one punch bowl like this. But it was never taken upstairs. It hasn't even been touched! I don't understand. What was all that madness upstairs, then?" Mr. Carson gaped helplessly.

Mrs. Hughes could only chuckle. "It's Christmas, darling. I suppose it brings out the romance in _all_ of us."

 **A/N Please leave a review if you feel so inclined. I'd love to hear from you. Pop on over to CD's profile and send her a happy birthday PM, and leave some birthday wishes in a tumblr fanmail for longlivequeenvic.**

 **Disclaimer: CD, llqv, in honor of your mutual birthday, I consumed several margaritas during the course of writing this. Make of that what you will.**


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